Make It Home
by laureleaf
Summary: Home is not a building: it's made of the people inside it. Sam and Dean struggle to help each other rebuild after the maelstrom of deaths surrounding Jack's birth. Luckily for the brothers, family don't end with blood, and it's something of a family tradition to come back from the dead. Initially episode tags, eventually Eileen/Sam fix-it fic.
1. Shattered Dreams

_There was no one there, but Eileen hadn't survived this long by ignoring her instincts. She_ knew _she was being watched. Their eyes lingered like a lover's touch on her back. Eileen had hoped that she would be able to disappear into the forgotten areas of rural Ireland, but she had been wrong. Even among the hills abandoned by all but the wind, the breath of the Men of Letters was hot on her neck. It didn't matter that she'd changed names, cut and dyed her hair, or bought a new phone with a new credit card. They hadn't found her, because they'd never lost her. She was marked as theirs; a woman with a bruise on her neck from a jealous kiss._

 _She should have never left the Bunker._

 _But she never could have stayed._

* * *

~There's Something About Mary~

* * *

Dean snuck a look at his brother. Sam was still staring out the side window intently, like the miles of ragged highway trees were the most interesting thing in the world. The driver returned his gaze to the road, noting from the milemarker that they had less than a half hour before they reached the morgue where Eileen's body was waiting for them. Dean felt his brother's grief more keenly than his own. Eileen had been a good hunter and a good friend. Most importantly, however, she'd been good for his brother. Dean had happily watched the little Irishwoman slowly peel away his brother's innumerous protective layers to let Sammy think about loving again. Her efforts showed up in little ways, ways that only someone that knew the kid as well as Dean did would be able to see. Like how Sammy sang in the shower, despite the fact that he hadn't done so since before Stanford. Or how he wore the expensive type of cologne that didn't smell like a teenager trying too hard, and not just on special occasions. Or how Sam's search history was full of Youtube videos teaching sign language and articles on deaf culture. Or how he smiled more, often for no particular reason at all, but almost always after glancing at a text heralded by a unique vibration pattern. They were big, goofy, unselfconscious smiles that lit up the whole room and reminded Dean of better days. Anyone who could make his brother smile like that was good in his book.

That smile was gone now, replaced with a shuttered look of devastation and resignation that reminded Dean eerily of when Jess died. He hoped this loss wouldn't hit his brother as hard as that mess, but he probably hoped in vain. Eileen had represented hope to Sam, a hope of realizing a dream he'd held tight for his whole life.

 _Normal_.

Dean was more than happy with a different woman every night. In fact, he sort of preferred it. Kept things interesting without any of the drama or the worry. But Sam… Sam wanted more. He wanted a real house with big windows in Suburbia with a white picket fence around it and two-point-five kids and a dog or three running around inside it. He wanted a law degree and a nine-to-five desk job and a wife that would make him salads and run her fingers through his too-long hair and fuss with his collar. He wanted to get old and complain about his arthritic hip and have a boring retirement on a golf course in Florida. He wanted a real _home_ , not just an antique car and a military Bunker and a crappy hotel room. One with a real family, not just a bunch of broken people patched together with alcohol and monster gore.

Sam claimed that he was committed to the Life, that he even enjoyed it. Dean knew in his bones that his brother would never just walk away. Not from him. Not after everything. Not when he'd come back, every single time, despite all of the chances he'd had to leave for good. Regardless, _Normal_ was still Sam's dream, even if he would never get to realize it, even if he would never actively pursue it, even if he refused to allow himself to even _think_ about it. That was ok, because Dean thought about it for him, planned and pursued it for him, because a _Normal_ life for Sam was Dean's dream too. He'd indulged in more than one brown study about a couple of little rugrats with Sammy's dopey grin and Eileen's softly curling hair calling him "Uncle" and giggling at his scars and making him play 'tea party'. Not that he'd _ever_ admit it, mind. The odds of that becoming reality had been just this side of impossible, even before. Now… Sammy would never find such a perfect woman again, and even if he did he wouldn't be willing to consider even thinking about dating her. Not with his _stunningly_ terrible record. It really was a minor miracle that Eileen had gotten so far past his defenses.

" _You don't ever think about something? Not marriage or whatever. But… Something? You know, with a hunter? Somebody who understands the life?"_

Dean had just brushed off the comment at the time, but he'd seen Sam's words for what they were: a fragile hope of an even more fragile dream. They'd met Eileen not long after, and Dean watched as that dream started to take on more details, more specifics. Becoming more _real_. Not just 'a hunter': Eileen. Not just 'something': late night video chats and hot chocolate at 2 am after mutual nightmares. Not 'whatever': tearful hugs after a hunt gone wrong and hesitantly signed forgiveness. Sam had allowed himself to have 'something' with Eileen, to permit himself to think about _Normal_ , even if it was their twisted version of it. The price, of course, was the pain of losing that dream once again.

Sam wearily tuned the radio to the local rock station and twisted the volume to _loud._ Dean had put it on a soft country station in silent consideration for his brother's tastes when they'd first gotten into the car. Little gestures like that were all Sammy could take right now, as he well knew. Firm shoulder grips, restaurants that served more than one type of rabbit food, quiet country music, slightly nicer motels with consistent hot water and good shower pressure, that sort of thing. Nothing overt would be accepted in this fragile stage of grief. The anger and the tears and the chick flick moments would come later, as would the single-minded purpose and coldly stubborn revenge. Right now there was just the raw shock, the bleeding wounds. The treatment was the same as for physical injuries: get to a safe place, clean out the gunk, douse with alcohol, wrap it tight, and wait for the pain to fade. The Bunker was several hours in their rearview window, Sam wasn't going to talk anytime soon, and they couldn't get blind drunk on a case this important. So Dean would have to be content with just keeping his brother moving and functional until he could apply some real first aid.

Sam shifted slightly, pulling himself into an even smaller, more miserable ball. Ever since they'd heard of Eileen's death, his brother's motions had been reminiscent of a puppy who'd been kicked twice too many times. Dean would have to remember to thank Jody later for calling in person. At least Sam had heard from a friend and not via the evening news. He'd also have to remember to clean out Eileen's room in the Batcave so his brother wouldn't have to confront those memories or think about those fragile dreams. Dean wished he could do more-Sam deserved so much more- but his silence and support were all he could offer right now.

* * *

A/N:

I wrote most of this during NaNoWriMo 2017, but have just now gotten around to publishing it. I'll be posting one chapter (~1000 words) every few days or so as I work through final edits. The first few chapters are meant to compliment the show, not to stand on their own. What episodes they should be paired with are noted. Later chapters deviate significantly from cannon and consequently have significantly more plot structure. This is a Sam/Eileen fic, but I'll write nothing past PG-13. All Dean-Cas interactions are Gen: you can get your Destiel kicks elsewhere :P

Assume spoilers for all aired episodes, because I'm lazy and don't want to take the time to sort out what tidbits came from where :P Stuff that you recognize doesn't belong to me. Mostly this fic is self-indulgent analysis and even more indulgent fix-it, but I figured someone else might want to come along for the ride. Many thanks to Star-Eye for finding the time to beta despite all of her other commitments.

Point out my mistakes and I will fix them :) Comments are love and encourage sequels!

~Always Keep Fighting; You Are Not Alone~


	2. Grief Like Rage

_Panic filled Eileen's lungs like water. She had been right. She_ was _being watched. Lillian's training reasserted itself with a shock like jumping into a cold pool:_

 _Put the recorder down.  
_ _Act like everything is normal.  
_ _Pray they don't realize you now know.  
_ _Get out of there.  
_ _Check your things for hex bags and other traps.  
Get rid of all your electronic devices.  
_ _Get far away.  
_ _Be unpredictable.  
_ _Pray they don't find you._

 _Finding the bug was all the confirmation she needed. If they could plant a listening device, they could have planted something far more deadly. She was only alive because they wanted her to be, and as soon as that changed, she was dead. Eileen wasn't safe here. She hadn't been safe ever since she'd walked out of the Bunker the morning after she'd shot Renny._

 _Of course, the Bunker had its own dangers. Specifically Sam. Being with him was like floating on the surface of a calm ocean on a sunny day. So easy to forget that there were hungry sharks swimming underneath the peaceful surface. So tempting to dive deeper to see what treasures hid below, heedless of the danger._

 _Eileen made the snap decision that it would be better to swim with the sharks than to be burned alive by the watchful gaze of the sun._

* * *

~Lost and Found~

* * *

Dean gripped the steering wheel of his Baby and drove, racing towards the horizon as if he could actually reach it and the peace it symbolized. Sam sat silent beside him, jaw tight. Behind him, Jack stared curiously out the window. His presence made Dean's fingers itch for a blade or a gun. The grief in his chest hurt more than Metatron's blade.

Dean had lost friends before. Lost family before. But never so many so quickly so brutally and so _pointlessly_. Not even during the Apocalypse. The scope of the carnage boggled Dean's mind. Their deaths brought back memories of some of the worst moments of his life:

Eileen, mauled by a hellhound. _Hearing his chest being ripped open by invisible claws while Sam screamed in agony._

Crowley, sacrificing himself to save them all. _Palms sweaty as he took another step towards Amara, his body burning as it struggled to contain the bomb within._

Castiel, stabbed in the back on Lucifer's whim. _The stench of blood bitter in his nostrils as he cradled his brother's cooling body because he'd been too late, just_ moments _too late..._

Mom, murdered by Lucifer's wrath. _Squinting through swollen eyelids to watch Sammy jump into the Cage, knowing that a furious Lucifer and all the tortures of eternity were waiting for him._

Even one of these deaths would have rocked his world. Taken together, they decimated the foundations of everything he'd ever believed in. Thankfully Sam was still alive, because he was the only thing keeping Dean from having a makeout session with a pistol right now. Thankfully Sam was keeping it together, because Dean certainly wasn't.

The routine, and it was a routine by now, of chopping wood and carefully building a pyre was as familiar as changing the oil in his Baby. It certainly seemed like he did it with equal regularity. Wrapping the bodies in whatever cloth was handy and tying it in place was still excruciatingly difficult, but not for a lack of practice. Watching the flames devour and the smoke curl was almost comforting now, a rallying cry to wreak the same upon those who had done this.

But not this time.

Lucifer was gone. For good. For _ever_. No way he was getting back into this universe. Which meant, of course, that Dean couldn't gank the sonofabitch like he'd wanted to ever since he'd heard that the fallen archangel had masterminded the Yellow Eyed Demon's plots. For the first time, he could not use revenge as an outlet to his pain, despite the fact that his hands shook with the need to _do_ something, to kill _something_ , like when he was still enslaved to the Mark. Cain's words were a taunt that would not leave his brain, because the bastard had been _right_. Damn him, he'd been _right._

" _First, you'd kill Crowley-there'd be some strange mixed feelings on that one, but you'd have your reason, get it done, no remorse."_

It hadn't been Dean's knife in Crowley's chest (more's the pity) but he'd killed him just the same. He had told Sam before, and he meant it: Dean was poison. People that got close to him got dead, usually sooner rather than later. Crowley had even said it himself: "People in your general vicinity don't have much in the way of a life-span." And talk about 'strange mixed feelings'... Crowley was simultaneously their most consistent ally and their most consistent enemy. There was a lot of bad blood between them, but the demon had always seemed to come through when it had really mattered. Dean half-expected the cockroach to turn up again like he always did, but he also knew better. He wasn't remorseful, exactly: if he'd known Crowley's life was the price for Lucifer's entrapment he would have paid it gladly. But he would still miss the guy's sass.

" _And then you'd kill the angel Castiel, now that one, that I suspect would hurt something awful."_

Dean wasn't quite up to even _thinking_ about Cas right now. His brain skittered around the topic like a nervous teen around their crush. The hole the angel had left was so large, so gaping… it tore at his soul in ways that Alastair, with all his tortures, could never imagine. Cas represented a sense of safety, a sense of we-can-beat-this, a knowledge that he didn't have to bear the burdens of this shitty world and it's myriad of problems alone. The angel was a safe harbor amid the shitstorm they constantly found themselves in. With that gone, Dean felt like he had when he'd lost Dad. Vulnerable. Crushed. Homeless. They'd lost Cas before- to the Leviathans, to Purgatory, to various angel skirmishes- but Dean had almost always been furious at the time. He had _wanted_ Cas gone. By the time the anger and betrayal had faded into something approaching grief the angel had already found his way back to him again, making the whole exercise pointless. Cas wasn't coming back this time, though, and Dean would never forgive him for that.

" _And then! Then would come the murder that you'd never survive, the one that would finally turn you into as much of a savage as it did me…"_

Cain had meant Sam, but it had been Mom. It had been Mom all along. If they hadn't lost her, Dad would have never drug them into hunting. Dean would have never become the killer he was. He wouldn't be a monster full of rage and hurt that came out in spurts of violence and throwaway sex and too much drinking.

It wasn't just that Mom was gone. Dean had lived with that reality since he was four; he could handle a world without his mother. Her loss had stoked the flames of revenge that had kept him going for almost two decades. The problem was that she was _gone_ , as in, Schrodinger's Cat: both alive and dead at the same time and no way to prove either. Dean chose to believe that she was dead, because he couldn't allow himself to believe differently. The sky had been ripped open and had swallowed her whole, just as the earth had been rent and had taken Sammy. On the other side of that uncrossable chasm was a thwarted Lucifer and the promise of unending torture. Having seen Sam through the aftermath of the archangel's personal barbeque, Dean would rather her dead. The thought that he _couldn't_ save her, could _never_ save her, even though there was a non-zero probability of her being very much alive and suffering indescribable horrors even now… that thought made him _savage._ What was the point of _Saving People, Hunting Things, the Family Business_ when he couldn't even save his own mother? When the things they did made them worse monsters than the things that they hunted? When all of his family was either dead or would be better off if he was too?

Dean's fingers clenched savagely on the steering wheel.


	3. Fear and Faith

_Her pen hesitated over the paper like a nervous bird. It would land, scratch a few lines, then alight, wary of the predators prowling the ground._

 _She heard a squawk through her hearing aids. She'd tuned them to pick up sudden electrical changes: a useful tip-off when hunting ghosts. In this instance, they cued her to look at the attendant who had just turned on her microphone._

" _Flight UAL2121, prepare for boarding."_

 _Her flighty pen made a few more hasty descents. There was so much she wanted to say, but no time and no safety to do so. She would just have to weather this storm as best she could and hope there was a warm nest waiting for her on the other side. Eileen quickly pecked the envelope before releasing it into the mail chute. Her ticket might say she was going to Charleston, but she was really flying home._

* * *

~Patience~

* * *

The sound of Jack's excited voice carried throughout the Bunker. From the beeps and explosions, it sounded like he was playing some video game with Sam. Dean stared at the ceiling of his room and seethed because his only other option was to be afraid.

It was all Jack's fault. It didn't matter that the freak was less than a month old: he'd made promises to Cas, brainwashed him even (as if the poor guy hadn't had enough of people messing with his head already, what with the Leviathans and Sam's Hell scars and Naomi and Lucifer's possession and all) to betray them. That betrayal had caused them to be unprepared for Lucifer, and those hasty attempts at a reckless plan had been the direct cause of Dean's family's deaths. Their slaughter, really. That blood was on the nephilim's hands, and Dean was going to find a way to make him pay, and pay dearly.

Sam, on the other hand, thought the damn kid was the key to fixing everything. As if they hadn't been down this road, with all its disastrous consequences, before. Every time they had tried to partner with some evil thing to try and fix some problem it had ended badly. Usually, it ended up with the world almost ending or one of them dead. Sometimes both.

No. Dean wasn't going to let that happen. Jack was Evil, with a capital E. Just because he hadn't gone nuclear yet didn't mean that the timer wasn't ticking.

Every instinct Dean had told him to gank the nephilim immediately if not sooner. Sam disagreed. Vehemently. Not a huge surprise: Sam was like a freakin' bloodhound at finding the closest most evilest thing and thinking it was a solution. See examples (A) Jack, son of Satan (B) Ruby (C) Rowena (D) British Men of Letters… shall we continue? Between the two of them, Dean was far better at figuring out what was evil and what should be avoided and who they could trust. His big failure was Gadreel, and even he turned out to be more misguided than evil in the end. Not that Sam would ever see it that way. Just like he'd never see that Jack, despite his puppy eyes, was not innocent.

Dean could see that Sam thought he was redeeming himself for the whole Apocalypse mess. It was ironic that he'd chosen Jack to be his protege: Sam had been corrupted by his demon teacher Ruby, and now he was playing Yoda to a basically-demon kid. Same mistake, only mirrored. Sam thought it was the Right Thing to do, and he would do it, his older and wiser brother's warnings be damned. _Again._ And Dean would have to save his brother from himself. _Again_. Dean was sick and tired of watching their painful cycle of mistakes and anger repeat. _Again._ He was already dreading watching his brother die to atone for his sins. _Again_. Couldn't Sam ever admit that he was _wrong_ and Dean was _right?_ They didn't have to do this _again._

Of course his little brother wouldn't. Of course the Winchesters would. Because if he chose differently he wouldn't be _Sam._

By the set of his shoulders and the tone of his voice, Dean knew it would probably take a literal act of Chuck to change his brother's mind. He'd always been stubborn like that. Sam would set his viewpoint a certain way, and that was how things were going to be, like it or not. It was how he'd conned Dad into taking them to Disney World when he was ten and it was how he'd gotten into Stanford with a full ride and it was how he'd started and ended the Apocalypse. It was how he'd survived the Hellucinations and how he'd saved Dean when he was a demon. And now, it appeared, Sam had Decided that Jack was good.

Sam thought that since Dean saved him from his evil powers, he would be more than willing to save Jack from his. That wasn't how this worked. Dean _knew_ Sam, knew him better than the kid knew himself, knew deep in his bones that he was _good_ in ways that Dean had never been and never could be. Dean didn't know jack diddly about Jack, other than he was the spawn of Evil himself. He had no clue what to expect, no idea what kind of dangerous mojo the teen would spew out at any moment. It was also an issue of scale: Sam had been messed up in his time, sure, but until he said 'yes' to Lucifer he didn't have enough firepower to gank more than a few demons in one go. For all they knew, Jack could sneeze and wipe out North America.

Dean supposed he should just take Sam at his word and start treating the abomination like he was a Real Boy. It wasn't like the nephilim had any choice, really. Sam had made a Decision, after all. History had shown that Heaven and Hell and everything in between could and would be bent to his reality. Dean would have considered agreeing with his brother, even helping him despite his best instincts, except for the fact that every time he saw Jack's face he remembered pulling that sheet over Cas's. Every time he met the nephilim's eye, he remembered the triumphant glint in Lucifer's as he pulled the blade from his guardian angel's back. Every time he saw Jack's hair as he turned away, he remembered seeing Mom's vanish into the rent in reality. Every time he saw Jack smile, he imagined Sam's teeth red with blood and his eyes lifeless and dull.

Dean wanted to believe Sam, he really did. But he couldn't see Jack as anything but Evil, because how could anything good cause this much fear and pain?


	4. Faith and Fear

"In a hole in the ground, there lived a Hobbit." _Eileen quirked a tired smile at the random thought. She was currently in what Tolkien would have described as a 'nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell'. Her hobbit-hole, the Bunker, was still over a thousand miles away. She had planned on catching a flight to Kansas City, but she'd spotted a British Man of Letters at the airport and had to flee. So much for the Eagles: she was going to have to walk back to the Shire. Of course, with wargs and orcs on her trail it was going to be difficult. If only she had a wizard in her back pocket, or even better, a stalwart Sam… Eileen shook her head. Sleep deprivation was making her babble nonsense. She peeked her head up above the rim of tree roots. What she saw, and more importantly,_ didn't _see, was more terrifying than any Nazgul._

* * *

~Advanced Thanatology~

* * *

Sam took a sip of his lukewarm coffee and clicked another link on his laptop. He was exhausted from working so hard, but his only other option was to be terrified. Dean stared forlornly out the front windshield beside him. Sam hadn't been thrilled to let his brother drive after being shot up with so many high-powered drugs, but after that heartbreaking confession he knew Dean needed the comfort only his Baby could give.

Sam _thought_ that Dean had been improving, slowly but surely. He was no longer the tangled mess of rage and hurt that he'd been in the days following Jack's birth (Sam refused to think of that day in terms of the myriad of deaths that had occurred) and was approaching their version of normal. Today had shown that Sam was completely wrong; Dean was a far cry from well. While Sam had managed to bury his grief by helping train Jack, Dean apparently had been drowning in his, to the point of being suicidal. Sam had only ever seen Dean this despondent and carefree with his life during the absolute worst of times, like after Dad had died or during the Apocalypse.

Saying that he didn't believe in anything… that frightened Sam more than he'd like to admit. Dean had _always_ believed in the cause, ever since they were kids. Saving people, hunting things was what got Dean up in the morning and gave him the power to do the impossible. Dean's faith had killed Azazel and had defied Fate and had overthrown the Apocalypse. It had defined Sam's reality after Hell and had conquered the Leviathans and had clawed Dean out of Purgatory. Dean's faith had carried Sam into and out of the Trials. It had helped him manage the Mark and had changed Amara's heart and had seen through the British Men of Letters' deception. Dean _believed_ that they would overcome, and so they always did. Dean _believed_ that the cause, and therefore Sam, was good, and that conviction had gotten them through many a dark and hopeless day. Dean without faith was like the Impala without an engine: utterly wrong, and without it, they were going absolutely nowhere.

Unfortunately, Sam had never been the best mechanic.

He'd been helpless to give his brother back his purpose. Every case he found only made things worse: even 'successful' cases where the monster was ganked felt like failures. Sam had tried everything over the last few weeks to help his brother grieve, to make his brother smile, to make him act just a little like his old self and not this bitter shell. He'd gone out of his way, often doing things he found distasteful or uncomfortable (going to loud bars, researching strip clubs, eating at greasy burger joints, not complaining about Dean's repetitive music selections) to elicit any sort of positive response. While part of Sam was relieved that he had a project to distract him from his own pain, another part of him was furious.

Dean's despondency felt like a betrayal in some ways. Sam had _always_ been enough for Dean. As long as there was Sam, Dean would keep fighting. That's just how things were, ever since Mom had died the first time around. Dean's overprotectiveness drove Sam nuts sometimes, but that was the price of the heartwarming and self-affirming knowledge that there was _always_ someone out there who loved him so much that he would do _anything_ for him. Part of what made Dean _Dean_ was how he was always sacrificing for Sam, jumping in front of bullets (metaphorically and literally) for Sam, always putting Sam first, always doing what needed done for Sam. It was a given that Dean always looked out for Sammy before himself.

" _Don't you dare think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you!"_

Apparently, that was only true when Dean needed it to be, because it sure as Hell wasn't true anymore.

Now Dean was so lost in his own trauma that he seemed oblivious to the fact that Sam had just lost his mother and his best friend and his ally _too_. Nevermind losing his might-have-been-lover just a few days before all of that and dealing with the Cage-trauma that always resurfaced after confronting Lucifer face-to-face. Sam was wounded and grieving and shell-shocked _too_ , and Dean didn't even care. At one time, even the _possibility_ of Sam getting hurt was enough to prompt his brother to crawl through literal and figurative Hell to make things right. Today, Dean's little stunt with the needle-to-the-heart had shown that even Sam begging on bended knee wasn't enough of a reason for him to stay alive. That indifference almost hurt worse than the grief of all of their recent losses combined.

But none of that mattered. Sam's pain was nothing in the larger picture: it never was. The universe didn't care that Dean was shattered and Sam was crumbling. There was a Prince of Hell and a teenage nephilim on the loose. The Winchesters needed to be out there saving the day, not recuperating on the bench. So Sam sucked it up and did the Job, because Dean wasn't ready to. He'd done it before, and he'd doubtless do it again. He was still royally _pissed_ at his brother, of course, but at the end of the day he would always have his brother's back. Dean had done the same for him often enough. Sam knew that his denial to let himself grieve wasn't strictly healthy. The longer he avoided his feelings, the more they would fester. He'd just have deal with the fallout later: he _couldn't_ afford to be anything less than his best right now. Especially since Dean was so fragile and so much was at stake. Besides, why should he waste time grieving when it could be better spent making a solid plan to fix things?

Was he filled with regret every time he thought of Eileen? Yes, of course he was, but there was nothing to be done about that now. Did he wish Crowley was alive to help them with all of this? Maybe. Sam didn't trust the demon as far as he could throw that fancy suit, with good reason. Crowley was useful on occasion, but he had usually been more bother than he was worth. Was Sam in denial over Mom? Probably. But then again, when had death ever stopped a Winchester? Why was an alternate universe so different? They (re: Sam) would figure it out, and they'd get Mom back, and Dean would be himself again. The hunt would feel like a mission again instead of an obligation. The Bunker would be a home again instead of just a place to sleep. Sam couldn't save Cas, but he _could_ save Mom, and therefore Dean. And in saving Dean, he'd save himself.

That was the plan, and that's just how it was going to be, because accepting anything less was too terrifying to contemplate.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! I really struggled with this chapter... What did you like; what didn't work? Let me know: reviews are love!


	5. Jealousy

_~One Year Ago~_

" _Hi Sam," Eileen waved from the screen. Sam felt his lips curve into an instinctive smile._

" _What can I do for you?" he forced his face to assume a properly professional expression. The Job came first. Eileen looked mildly disappointed to be denied the chance to exchange pleasantries, but answered his question._

 _Her lips said, "I'm looking for some lore on flying ghost heads," but her hands teased, "Nice bed head, sleepy."_

 _"I'm sure there's some lore in the library," he opened up a window on his computer with one hand and absentmindedly ran his fingers through his hair with the other. He ignored her chuckle when he realized that his hair was fine and she had pranked him. "Give me some more details."_

" _From what I can determine it's a vengeance spirit that manifests as a giant head with wings," Eileen's altered the sign for 'wings' to place them near her ears to illustrate. It looked silly, and that was clearly her intention, but Sam refused to rise to the bait. "What I can't figure out is why it's haunting a bunch of frat boys in Miami."_

" _Florida?" Sam paused in his preliminary search to raise an eyebrow._

" _The university in Oxford Ohio," Eileen explained. She seemed bummed that Sam wasn't flirting back. He refused to feel guilty about that. Sam's automated search of the Men of Letters archives finally listed some results._

" _Found something; let me grab the book," Sam dashed through the library and quickly found the right tome. A few moments of skimming yielded some interesting results. He pulled out his phone and snapped a few pictures before returning to his laptop._

" _Have there been any beheadings in recent history?" Eileen narrowed her eyes and leaned forward. Sam heard the sound of typing._

" _I think I saw something like that… yes! Two years ago."_

" _I think you might be dealing with a Dagwanoenyent," Sam spelled out the unfamiliar word with his fingers. "I sent you some lore, and I'll keep looking for more." Eileen giggled at his unintentional rhyme. The sound finally made Sam break into a small grin. "See what you can find out about the beheadings."_

" _I'll see," Eileen smiled. "Thanks for your help Sam. You probably just prevented me from wasting hours on fruitless research." Sam doubted it. A quick internet search could have yielded the same result. Eileen was a much better hunter than she was currently pretending. She probably was just looking for an excuse to talk, but Sam had gone and ruined things by taking her query seriously. Of course, that had been his intention. The miserable guilty feeling in his gut, however, had_ not _been part of the plan._

" _Anytime," he nodded tightly in return. He moved to hang up the call._

" _You know you can talk to me about not hunting-related things, right?" she added hesitantly._

" _I know," Sam bit his lip. "But not right now," he looked away. He wanted to talk to Eileen about his last conversation with Dean and the most recent_ Game of Thrones _episode and the dream he had two nights ago and how he thought her new haircut was really fetching. Just as he wanted to let her make him laugh throughout their entire conversation. But he hadn't, and he wouldn't, because he knew where that path led._

 _He couldn't have another friend's death on his hands if he didn't have friends. He couldn't have another lover's blood on his hands if he didn't have a lover._

" _Goodbye Eileen," he said before ending the call._

* * *

~Tombstone~

* * *

Sam knew that jealousy was beneath him, but that knowledge didn't stop him from feeling that way. He was thrilled that Cas was back, don't get him wrong. He was even happier that Dean was no longer brooding about looking for something to kill or (even better in Dean's opinion) something to kill him. It was jarring, really, how his brother had transformed almost overnight into an overeager puppy. Splurging on good hotel rooms, indulging in his Wild West obsession, eating every pie and hamburger he could get his hands on, laughing and smiling all the time: it was almost creepy, actually. It wasn't that Sam didn't want his brother to be happy - he did - but this hyperactive enthusiasm didn't strike him as healthy or normal. Dean always seemed to do things to the extreme, for good or for bad. Sam just hoped he'd find a stable middle ground soon. He wanted his brother back, his _real_ brother, not some overdone parody of him.

If Cas had noticed Dean's strange behavior he hadn't done anything about it as far as Sam could tell. The angel seemed fine, all things considered. Sam had come back from the dead before, and it was never an easy transition. Inserting yourself back into the lives of those who were still mourning your loss was incredibly difficult. They expected you to be who you were before, and so you tried to act that part for their sake because they had suffered enough, but you _weren't_ that person anymore and never could be. That person was _dead_ , after all. That said, Cas seemed genuinely unaffected by his experience. Of all his deaths, Sam suspected that getting stabbed in the back was the least traumatic. How screwed up was their life that he could even say that?

Everything and everyone was fine, but Sam waited for the other shoe to drop. Experience had taught him that bad shit always followed a resurrection. Cas had annoyed a Cosmic Entity, which sounded like nothing good, after being sent to the Empty, a place where they had been repeatedly and emphatically told that nothing could escape. They'd _burned his body_ , for Chuck's sake. Cas shouldn't be alive, full stop. And he certainly shouldn't be 'fine'. And even if you accepted all of that, the Cosmic Consequences from Cas killing Billy had yet to appear. And that's before taking into account Jack and all the alternate-universe-insanity and probably-apocalyptic conflicts he implied. They were all about to be in deep shit, Sam could tell.

But for now… they hunkered down at the Bunker and tried to enjoy the brief respite. Dean had gone out for even more pie (why did he never learned to bake it himself? Sam knew he was a good cook) while Sam did some research and Cas spent some time with Jack. The angel got along famously with the young nephilim. Sam's relationship with the kid had always been strained at best. Part of that was because he often acted like a buffer between Jack and his brother, but most of that was because he was trying to act like a father figure without any real authority. Sam could lecture Jack all day long, but when push came to shove all Jack had to do was snap his fingers and they'd all be dead. Cas theoretically had enough mojo to at least slow the kid down.

The two of angelic beings were currently discussing flying techniques, if Sam was following them correctly. About every third word was in Enochian. (When had Jack learned to speak Enochian? A question for another day.) There was a sad sort of melancholy in Cas's eyes. Sam couldn't imagine how painful it was to have been stripped of the ability to fly. Jack animatedly drew diagrams and asked questions while Cas tried to keep up. Sam was envious of that easy raport. He'd been trying to connect with Jack in order to get him to successfully practice with his abilities. Cas had achieved more in five minutes than Sam had in five weeks. Perhaps it was because they both had innate powers. Perhaps it was because Sam failed at everything he tried at.

Speaking of failures… His relationship with his brother was on shaky ground at best. Dean's decision to finish this last case alone was disheartening. He'd been doing that more often since the whole Men of Letters fiasco. Sam knew his brother was more than capable at doing the job and watching his own back, but he also knew that they were so much better together. Was Dean going solo because he didn't trust Sam anymore? Was it because he thought his brother wasn't capable? Or was it because Dean had a death wish? Sam had hoped that once Cas had returned Dean would leave that terrifying idea behind. Was he wrong? If he was, the consequences didn't bear thinking about. There was no guarantee Dean could come back from the Empty like Cas.

The whole situation left Sam feeling sick. Even if Dean was no longer suicidal (which was great, don't get him wrong), it meant that he cared more for Cas than he did Sam. After all, Sam hadn't been able to do for him with weeks of hard work and sacrifice what Cas had done with his mere presence. It was clear now that Cas was now the force that propelled Dean forward. He was his faith, his purpose. Dean believed in Cas, not Sam. Sam was just a poor substitute. The realization stung in ways he didn't really want to contemplate. Cas was like a brother to him, after all. A sort of superpowered, quirky, occasionally-ends-the-world sort of brother, but still. It wasn't like he begrudged Cas's relationship with Dean… but then again, he sort of did. Cas always managed to succeed in saving Dean when Sam failed, starting with when he'd pulled the Righteous Man from Hell. Cas always answered when Dean called. Sam wished his record in that respect was half as good. Both Sam and Cas had made monumental mistakes, but Dean was always so quick to forgive Cas and so slow to forgive Sam. Maybe it had something to do with their 'profound bond'. Maybe it had something to do with the borderline sexual tension that flashed between his brother and the angel every time their eyes met. Cas wasn't Dean's lover (that would be _super_ weird) but he did provide the emotional support more traditionally associated with romantic relationships. Dean would talk to Cas about things that he would never tell Sam in a million years. And that was ok, really, because otherwise Dean would never talk about his weaknesses and fears at all and that wasn't healthy. Didn't mean Sam couldn't be envious about it though.

Sam wished he had someone like that to confide in. He could and did talk to Dean of course, but sometimes he needed someone _different_. Someone who _listened_ before _assuming_. He'd not had a real emotional outlet, romantic or otherwise, since… gosh… Amelia? She was more a rebound than anything real. Ruby? Sam doubted emotional manipulation and supernatural addiction counted as real either. Jess? His love for her had certainly been real, as real as anything was in his shitty life. But even then he'd had to hold back, to keep parts of his past and himself locked away for her own safety (for all the good it did). Eileen might have someday filled that role, if he had allowed it. But she was gone, and unlike Cas, she was not coming back. At the end of the day, Dean had Cas to go to, but Sam had no one and probably never would.

He was done lying to himself: he was angry at Dean and jealous of Cas. They were bitter, vile emotions, but his condemnation did not erase their existence.

Sam hated himself for hating his brothers.

* * *

A/N: Miami of Oxford is a real school in Ohio. I would recommend looking up dagwanoenyent legends: there are a lot of different variants and stories about them that I didn't have space to expound upon here. Sometimes I wish the show would leave off angels and demons for a bit and spend some time exploring some of the unique and fascinating monsters in lesser-known lore.

Hoped you enjoyed the longer chapter! Reviews are love :)


	6. Lost Little Siblings

_~One Year Ago~_

" _This is your car?" Dean whistled appreciatively. Eileen smirked._

" _Brought it over from Ireland," she stroked the fine purple finish. It was dark, almost black, but it sparkled with hints of red when the light caught it just right._

" _That must have been a hassle," he nodded towards the hood. Eileen opened the front door and popped the hatch. The engine was just as pretty as the rest of the car. She'd made sure of that._

" _It was totally worth it," Eileen affirmed. "Want to take her for a spin and see for yourself?" Keys jingled in her uplifted hand._

" _Hell yes," Dean closed the hood and caught the keys she tossed in his direction._

* * *

~The Scorpion and The Frog~

* * *

Steam rolled into the bedroom as Sam creaked out of the bathroom. He wore his old holey sweatpants and was in the process of wrapping a towel around his precious hair. Dean spared a sympathetic wince for the bruises darkening his brother's chest and back. He'd given the kid crap about getting overpowered by some grandpa with a collectible, but apparently the old bat had some serious kick-ass.

"All yours," Sam muttered flatly as he dug around in his duffle for a shirt. Dean felt his eyes crinkle sadly. His brother was putting on a good front, but Dean could tell he was hurting. Sam would never complain, of course, but he was still struggling to cope with Mom's loss. He'd never really grieved for Cas: he'd been too busy holding Dean together and wrangling Jack. He hadn't even had the time to really grieve for Eileen either before the shit hit the fan. His brother had held it all together for Dean's sake, but now that Cas was back, he was allowing himself to fall apart.

Speaking of… if that sonofabitch angel keep returning from certain death like that, Dean was going to have to kill him for worrying him so. That said, Dean felt like the guy had 'gripped him tight and raised him from perdition' for the second time. Mom was still gone (and that hurt something fierce and always would) but he had made it through the loss of Dad and Bobby and he could survive her loss too. Dean was wounded, sure, but not crushed any longer. Now that Cas had returned, it was like a huge weight had been lifted from his back. Instead of wallowing through the motions of daily life, he could actually focus on the problems at hand, namely, their missing nephilim. Jack had run off, again, but ever since he'd saved Cas Dean had hesitantly put him in the _Ally_ category in his mental rolodex. The kid was messed up, to be sure, but the President was currently more likely to cause WWIII. That said more about the Cheeto-In-Chief than Jack, but still… the nephilim was trying to be good. Sam had Decided, and apparently those puppy eyes could still work their magic. The nuke was diffused, and Dean was more than a little relieved.

All in all, he was solidly on the road to recovery and the world probably wouldn't spontaneously implode. Sam, on the other hand…

Instead of dealing with his own emotions, Sam had buried himself into work. Specifically helping Jack and therefore finding Mom. Dean had seen this coping mechanism before. His brother would be fine as long as he was busy, but as soon as things slowed down or hit a speed bump (like right now) his thoughts would catch up to him and Dean would be left with nothing but a morose shell for a brother. Sam was losing himself, piece by shattered piece, and Dean was the one who would have to find all the bits and put his little brother back together again. Dean was not looking forward to the impending epic chick-flick moment that would be the inevitable backlash of his brother's so-called 'coping mechanisms'. To be fair, Dean's three-part plan of beer, bacon, and babes wasn't the healthiest coping mechanism either, but hey, at least it was fun.

Dean grabbed some clean clothes and made his way to the bathroom. The air was still warm and humid from Samantha's attempt to turn it into a sauna. Hopefully there was still some hot water left.

"Order us some pizza!" he shouted over his shoulder. He had been about to do that himself when Sam finished his shower. He heard an affirmative grunt in reply.

The pressure left something to be desired, but the water was warm enough. Dean scrubbed his skin more thoroughly than usual. He always felt slimy after working with demons. He'd never been a huge fan of demons, obviously, but after _being_ one, knowing just how _dark_ and _filthy_ and _evil_ demons were…

They _repulsed_ him.

It didn't matter that it was for a good cause or for a 'higher purpose'. It didn't matter that it was the only option they had. It still made him feel like a sticky tissue that had missed the dumpster. Dean had the deepest sympathy for those poor bastards that had to work for demons; the ones without a choice, with a knife to their family's necks or hellhounds on their ass. True, it was their fault that they'd sold their souls, but most of the poor buggers didn't know what they were really getting themselves into. People would do terrible things under the threat of Hell. He would know.

Dean didn't know the details of Smash's story, but he knew the gist. She was young, really young. She would have had to have sold her soul before she'd hit double digits for Bart to have hellhound leverage over her now. That usually meant abusive parents, like Bella, or some petty childhood wish. Either way, it wasn't really her fault that she'd been tricked by a demon.

Helping Smash was a foregone conclusion. 'Saving people, hunting things, the family business,' and all that jazz and a bag of chips. It was good to actually do that for a change, instead of playing Dr. Phil to God or touring Apocalypse worlds. It didn't help that the young and quirky hacker had reminded him so much of Charlie. Charlie, who'd helped them whenever they'd asked for it, who had given her all and then some when they'd needed it. Charlie, who'd never lost her smile or her love of geeky things despite all of the dark and evil she'd seen. Charlie, who'd shone so bright and so cheerfully. Charlie, dead because of a demon deal that _he_ had made. Dead because she'd found a way to break his curse, even though he'd warned her that it was far too dangerous.

Dean hadn't been able to save Charlie, rest her soul. But at least he'd managed to save Smash.

It was child's play to slip his favorite lighter from his pocket into the chest of Bart's bones. Deciding on that gamble, however, had been more difficult. Would the bones even catch fire? They usually covered them with lighter fluid for a reason. Would Smash take matters into her own hands, risking the wrath of the demon and his hellhounds for a chance at freedom? Would the spell catch fire along with the demon?

Smash had proven plucky enough to do it, the dry dusty bones had caught fire without any issues, no hellhounds appeared, and the spell was destroyed. Dean counted all of those points as wins. He'd seen the first half of the spell, and it was dark magic, magic that he'd had more than enough of. Nothing good came from stuff like that. Just ask Charlie. Sammy would be bummed, but he would just have to deal. Dean was done with black magic.

They'd dropped Smash off at the bus station. Dean hoped, for her sake, that they would never see her again. Having an expert in safe-cracking that owed them a favor might be handy, but he hoped that he'd never have to call that chip in. Charlie had been safe after the Leviathans, but not after they'd pulled her into the hunting world the second time. Eileen had been safe too, until they had gotten her mixed up with the Men of Letters. Dean regretted that he couldn't save her from the hellhounds too.

Damn, but he missed them both: Charlie and Eileen. The little sisters he never knew he wanted. The little sisters he'd failed so spectacularly.

Sam had seen the resemblances too, Dean knew. He had that misty look in his eyes. Not just because of the Charlie reminders, but the fact that Luther Strike had gone to Hell to save someone he loved. Not only that, but he'd found a way to slither out of his deal. Dean was sure Sam was beating himself up inside for not finding out about about Luther when Dean was counting down the days to his deal. Even though his method - holding the demon's bones hostage - would have never worked in Dean's case anyway.

It was disquieting to think about those days. They'd been so naive, even with everything they'd already seen and done. Sam had been blithely wandering down a dark path, while Dean had been cockily striding towards damnation. Sam had paid for his mistakes and then some. Dean was still a few years away from spending more time topside than downstairs. Neither of their souls would ever be clean of the desperate deals Dean had made, even if they'd been necessary, even if he would have made them again if given the chance because they had ensured that they both made it home alive. Dean wished he could give the rest of their broken little family the same sort of protection, even if it meant even more detestable deals. He didn't think he could take watching one more of the too-small corpses of his little siblings go up in smoke.

* * *

A/N: It's interview cannon that Eileen has a "girly" version of Baby. We never got to see the car onscreen, and I can't find a make/model reference so I just kept it vague.

I miss Charlie so damn much, if you can't tell. Such a great female character, gone way too soon :(

This is the last of the episode tags: everything hereafter is AU. A huge thanks to everyone who's stuck with this story so far, especially bagelcat1! Reviews are love :)


	7. Pizza Man

_Sam Winchester knew just about everything there was to know about pain: physical, emotional, and spiritual. He knew how to cope, how to endure. Given a goal and enough willpower, you could overcome just about anything. A bullet to the gut, for instance, or a hallucination caused by a mangled soul, or a beloved friend lying shredded in a morgue._

 _Sam Winchester knew that after enough pain, you stop screaming for help, because you realize no help is coming. You stop screaming in anger, because you realize that there is nothing you can do to stop it. You stop screaming in pain, because it is too exhausting. But after all that, you_ start _screaming again just to keep yourself sane, because you need the distraction. You can ignore anything with the right distraction: a hunt to overlook a vanished mother, or a whiskey to dull the loss of a brother, or a blue-eyed blond to forget a brown-eyed brunette._

 _Sam Winchester knew that it was the little things that hurt the most. Some pains were too big to process, so the human brain bypassed them entirely to focus on the smaller details. The slow burn of a needle pressing into your arm when your guts were pooled on the floor, for example. A scratch on your brother's car when he was lying dead in the back seat. An ad for sign language classes while you were researching how to prevent the end of the world._

 _Sam Winchester knew how to work around pain, to do the job in spite of it. He'd been doing it his whole life. But some pains had to be met head-on, stared dead in the eye, and confronted before they could heal. A broken leg had to be set before you could walk on it. A shredded soul had to be replaced before you could feel guilty enough to seek forgiveness. You had to open the door before one of your greatest regrets could come inside and let you try again._

* * *

Dean slowly tucked the overbleached motel towel around his waist as he left the bathroom. Sam was cautiously opening front door, a gun in his hidden hand. A bit paranoid, but with all the shit that had been happening, probably a good call. Dean peered around his brother's lanky frame to see who their guest was. The pizza man, he hoped.

It was Eileen Leahy.

Dean distractedly hoped that his towel would stay put as he dove for a weapon. A shifter or related monster was exactly what they _didn't_ need right now.

"How _dare_ you wear her face," Sam hissed, pointing his favorite pearl-gripped pistol at its forehead. Dean knew why he hadn't shot already, and it had nothing to do with thin motel walls and security cameras. He hoped, for Sammy's sake, that the monster would listen and change into someone, anyone, else. His brother's nightmares and guilt trips were bad enough already.

"I'm not a monster," not-Eileen said, slowly enunciating. Dean had to give the monster props for getting the deaf accent just right. His questing fingers finally found the shotgun Sam always stored at the foot of his bed. Salt didn't do much against corporeal monsters, but it hurt like a bitch and certainly slowed them down. It would do until he could reach the weapons bag by the door or his own pistol under his pillow.

"Eileen is… dead," Sam snarled. Only Dean would have heard his slight hesitation. He smoothly padded around the beds to get a better shot at the monster. Sammy clearly wasn't going to harm it unless he had to, and his hesitation could prove dangerous. Dean didn't like the idea of shooting something with Eileen's mug either, but he wouldn't think twice about protecting his brother. He would do what Sam could not, just like Sam had done what Dean could not in similar situations in the past.

"I just wanted to make the British think that." The thing held out its grimy hands. "Test me. I'm human." It certainly looked and smelled like a human who had been living rough for a while. Dean saw the tip of Sam's pistol waver just slightly. He also felt his towel slip just a little. The shotgun required two hands, so he couldn't adjust it. He'd fought naked before, but he hoped it wouldn't come to that. Sammy had enough blackmail material on him already.

"I've got you covered," he told his brother. Sam started like he hadn't realized Dean was there. His jaw worked for a moment, his eyes vulnerable. However, by the time Sam returned from the weapons bag with a silver knife and a holy water flask, his game face was firmly on. Dean was proud of his brother for doing the job despite the circumstances.

Not-Eileen barely flinched when Sam professionally slashed its arm. The bleeding flesh didn't fizz or bubble like a shifter or related monster. The holy water had no effect either. She wasn't an angel or she couldn't have gotten past the sigils they'd carved into the porch railing earlier, she couldn't be a demon because she'd waltzed right through the devil's trap painted on the awning, and frankly there was no possible way she could be either because they'd _burned her body_ so there was no vessel left to possess.

Sam's breaths started to get panicky.

"I'm not a monster," Eileen repeated as she quickly wrapped a crusty bandana around her bleeding arm, and this time Dean believed her. She quickly glanced around behind her at the motel parking lot.

"Can I come in? I'm supposed to be dead," she shrugged as if that was no big deal. Dean smiled and lowered his gun. He wasn't sure how, but Eileen was alive, and that was excellent news. He'd missed her wit and her ability to make Sam smile. Besides, they needed every ally they could find these days.

Sam was still having problems with his breathing. The weapons in his hands were unceremoniously tossed onto the side table with a loud clatter as he took a few coltishly uncoordinated steps forward.

"Eileen…" he murmured, brushing a hand against her cheek. The aching shuttered look that had haunted his face when Sam thought Dean wasn't looking was gone, replaced by the pleading puppy eyes that no one to date had been able to resist. Eileen smiled and signed something quickly that Dean didn't understand.

Moments later, she was airborne as Sam lifted her up to an exuberant kiss. They would have probably spun around like some corny Hallmark movie if the motel wasn't so cramped. Dean slowly applauded with fond exasperation. Sam turned to glare at him for interrupting his Epic Reunion.

Of course, that's when Dean's towel decided to give up its fight to stay on his hips where it belonged. Thankfully, his reflexes were faster than gravity. His graceful save didn't, however, stop Sam from breaking into a huge smile that promised brotherly teasing for the next forever. It was a good sight to see, one that Dean hadn't seen in far too long. So he fumbled and played for laughs before retreating to the bathroom to give the lovebirds some space.


	8. After Hello

_Eileen rarely cried, but when she did let herself go, it took hours for her to recover. Tears flowed from her eyes like blood from a stabbed hemophiliac, unable to be staunched. She reached for Sam like she was dying, and he clung to her like he was trying to put pressure on a wound. The feeling of his strong arms around her shoulders, pressing her face into the musky scent of his sweat-soaked flannel, was more relieving than any opiate._

 _She hesitated to let go, because if she left his sanctuary the memories would resume their wounding onslaught. Somehow, he understood her thoughts. Sam tipped up her chin so she could read his lips._

" _It's hard to be alone after something like… like today." He kept one arm around her shoulders like a shield as he led her to the kitchen for a cup of hot chocolate. They ended up on one of the couches in the lounge, wrapped up in the same blanket. They didn't talk, but they didn't need to. She fell asleep with her head on his thigh and his hand resting on her heart like a bandage._

* * *

Sam was _never_ going to let his brother live that down. Eileen had laughed herself breathless at Dean's bungling attempts to rescue his towel and his embarrassed retreat to the bathroom. Sam relished the sound, just as he relished her warm softness in his arms and the gentle tickle of her hair underneath his nose. He'd acted completely impulsively when he'd kissed her, but he couldn't find it within him to regret it. Not when he could feel her heart thumping against his chest and her breath whispering against his skin.

Sam had been so nervous around her before, so hesitant. Everyone he loved died. That's just how his life went. He knew it, everyone knew it, and he had a whole heap of ashes to show for it. Sam thought he'd been protecting her by keeping Eileen at arm's length, but that had proven pointless. She'd still died, and then all that had remained was anger and regret. It wasn't enough.

Screw caution. Sam wanted this, wanted _her._ From the way she was currently standing on her tiptoes so she could reach the back of his head and pull him down into another passionate kiss, it seemed like she wanted _him_ too. Despite the obvious danger.

The thought drove a spike of fear into his heart, but he allowed her touch to soothe it away. Eileen could take care of herself. She'd proven it time and time again. She didn't need his protection.

"If I'd known you'd react like this when I died I would have tried it sooner," Eileen teased, her lips puffy from Sam's overexcitement. Sam pulled back just a little more so she could see his equally puffy lips clearly.

"Don't joke about dying," he said softly, knowing that she wouldn't hear his voice crack. Thank Chuck Dean was still hiding in mortification in the bathroom and therefore couldn't tease him about the massive 'chick-flick' moment.

"I'm sorry." Eileen gently wiped away tears Sam hadn't realized he'd shed. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I'm just glad that you are ok," he smiled. " _I forgive you_." He had to pull away a little more in order to free both hands to sign the word 'forgive': the grouped fingers of his right hand brushing outward along his upturned left palm from wrist to fingertips twice. She smiled in that sad proud way she did whenever he tried to sign before leaning in for another kiss. It was slower and sweeter this time, not the frantic _need_ of before.

"Ugh. Seriously? Get a room," Dean drawled from the bathroom door. Sam lazily flipped him off without taking any of his attention away from the delightful way Eileen was sucking on his lip.

"Fine; be that way. You two kids have fun while I get some food. Use a condom!" Dean cheerily teased before slamming the door shut behind him.

Eileen started at the vibration. "What's so funny?" she asked as Sam shook his head in exasperation. He realized she'd missed his brother's ridiculousness since he had been blocking her view. The Impala's engine roared to life before rumbling into the distance.

" _Brother_ ," he signed with an eye roll. Eileen laughed, making Sam smile. She was _alive_ , and that fact alone was enough to make his heart sing.

She made to sit down on the bed but paused with a grimace. His eyebrows furrowed for a moment, trying to figure out what was wrong. Then he opened his eyes and really _saw_.

The motel room was crappy even by their standards, which meant that it was tacky in every sense of the word. The bathroom was covered with questionable stains, the wallpaper was headache-inducing, and the top bedspread probably had been last washed months ago. On top of that, Dean and Sam had come in filthy and tired, which meant there were stinky clothes strewn across the floor and various hunting paraphernalia tossed on top of the beds. No wonder Eileen was hesitant to settle in. Sam cringed with embarrassment.

"Sorry for the mess," he apologized. They kept the Bunker much cleaner, so Eileen hadn't any idea what slobs they were till now.

Eileen frowned for a moment in confusion before giving him a rueful grin.

"I'm the filthy one," she gestured at herself. "I don't want to get your bed dirty."

Now that she pointed it out, Sam could see that she was even filthier than they had been after that ghoul hunt a few months ago. Her hair was greasy and lank, every crease in her hands was filled with dirt, her shirt was stained with at least three different fluids, and her shoes were caked with mud.

Eileen looked down, clearly embarrassed.

"I should have cleaned up a bit before coming, but…"

Sam interrupted. "You're beautiful." He hadn't really meant to say that, but now that he had, he found it to be true. Something about the way her sharp eyes pierced through her dusty eyelashes was incredibly alluring. Her grimy jacket and torn jeans exuded a sense of confident competence that made her look more desirable than any lingerie.

Eileen furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

" _You are beautiful_ ," he signed, just to make sure she understood. "And you are always welcome here."

She just gave him a look that said 'you're mental' clearer than any words, signed or spoken. Sam just smiled and shrugged. She might not believe him, and he _was_ probably mental, but that didn't change how she looked to his eyes.

"There should still be some warm water," he gestured towards the bathroom. "I'll fetch you a towel: I think I saw some in the top of the closet."

"Thanks," Eileen shuffled her feet awkwardly as Sam rummaged in the closet.

"Here you go," he handed her the folded cloth.

As soon as the bathroom door closed, Sam started tidying up the room. There wasn't anything he could do to help the wallpaper, but he could clean up the hunting paraphernalia and dirty clothes. He could organize his research and he could move the table so that it was close enough that someone could sit on the bed, making three seats total. By the time Eileen turned off the water, the place almost looked like home, or at least their version of it.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the late posting: this chapter did _not_ want to get written. All my sign language knowledge comes from Google, so feedback is appreciated.


	9. Theory and Reality

_Eileen sipped contemplatively at her coffee. Cream, no sugar. Sam looked troubled as he filled his cup. He had woken them both with a nightmare. He didn't say what it was about, and Eileen wasn't about to ask him. He was a hunter, after all. Hunters had nightmares. She'd been having one herself, actually. The truth of it left a bitter taste in her mouth, like a brew that had steeped too long._

" _I can't stay here."_

 _Sam's mug slipped from his hands and crashed on the floor. He didn't contradict her. She'd hoped he would. His silence shattered something inside more thoroughly than the dishware._

" _It's not safe for you," she continued relentlessly, her mouth dripping words like the spattered porcelain between them. "The British will never stop hunting me."_

" _Never," Sam agreed. He wouldn't meet her eye over the broken pieces. "You aren't safe with me. I wish you were."_

" _It's not your fault." Her platitude was as ineffective as the threadbare dishrag she was using to sop up the mess._

" _Yes it is," Sam said the words slowly but inexorably like the spill oozing across the white tile. "I lost control, and things got out of hand, and now you're in danger."_

" _You didn't pull the trigger," Eileen felt like she was missing half of Sam's meaning; tiny fragments lost into the cracks and corners._

" _It was my gun," Sam retorted, his words sharper than the broken glass. "You should go."_

 _She left, but the memory of him standing forlornly by the garage door stuck in her heart like the painful splinter in her finger._

* * *

Dean smiled as he drove. He'd spied a Chinese restaurant a few miles out of town. Of course, only someone who'd spent most of their life on the road would consider almost forty miles a 'few'. Hopefully it would give his brother and Eileen enough time to become reacquainted. There was only so much UST he could take, after all.

The hunter in him was curious as to how exactly Eileen had managed to cheat death. Rising from the grave was no simple business, especially when your meatsuit had been toasted. Perhaps she'd simply sidestepped the whole mess, but tricking hellhounds couldn't be done, right? They had burned _someone's_ body. Dean's big-brother-protective-mode alarm was wailing that he shouldn't have left Sam alone without knowing all the details, but his big-brother-happy-Sammy-mode had only seen how Sam's eyes had crinkled with joy and his shoulders had slumped with relief when Eileen had kissed him. She was good for him.

 _Better for him than you._

Dean gripped the steering wheel tighter, forcefully banishing that dark thought. He'd made some big-ass mistakes with Sam, but they'd still made it through. They were family, after all.

 _But what if Sam wants his own family? One with a wife and kids, not monsters and death._

It was a premature thought at best. Eileen was a friend, a fellow hunter. She wasn't Jess, but she wasn't a one-night-stand either. It was all too easy to imagine Sam settling down with her, only hunting on occasion if at all. Dean had indulged in that daydream often enough, before she 'died'. It had been a comforting thought then, a distant fantasy. Now, seeing it start to become reality… that was terrifying. Sammy leaving Dean to hunt alone was his greatest fear, after all.

* * *

Eileen slowly scrubbed two weeks worth of grime off of her skin and willed herself to relax. She was safe here. The Winchester's warding was impressive, and she'd augmented it with some of her own before she'd knocked on the door. Nothing was coming into this motel room. Nothing could have tracked her here to begin with. She was safe.

Her trembling hands refuted that comforting lie. She'd lived every moment for _weeks_ in fear. It was difficult to relax when she'd lived on edge for so long.

Eileen ran her fingers through her unfamiliarly short hair. She'd had to cut it soon after her 'death', partially for disguise and partially because living rough had quickly turned it into a snarled matted mess. She hadn't decided if she wanted to grow it out again.

The water started to turn cold, but she didn't get out of the shower. Outside the bathroom was six-foot-four-inches of hope and fear that she wasn't quite ready to face. Eileen had only hunted with Sam a few times, but she trusted him. There was just something about his puppy-dog face and those ancient eyes and those gentle hands: they screamed _you can trust me!_ despite his ridiculous height and his intimidating shoulders and his predatory gait. He was a strange combination of opposites: awkwardness and grace, silliness and seriousness, grief and laughter, the taller but still 'little' brother. Eileen had crossed an ocean to flee from Sam, and she'd crossed an ocean to return to him. His arms were the safest and most dangerous place she knew. Part of her longed for that reassurance, and part of her quivered at the risk. The dichotomy and the paradoxes of his personality, even his mere existence, were as confusing as they were enticing.

Eileen knew that she'd already made her decision. If Sam would have her, she would stay, to whatever end. She wouldn't be here otherwise. But there was something different about thinking that and actually walking through the door.

* * *

Sam sat down on the bed and tried to get a grip on his emotions. He was familiar with this process. First there was shock. Dead people stayed dead or became monsters. Usually. Then came the joy. They had returned! For real! After that was the relief. They had been freed from whatever horrors had kept them away. He didn't have to deal with impotent worry or guilty grief any longer. The pain could end now. At least, that's what he always liked to think. In fact, the pain was just beginning. People only rarely came back human, but they never came back the same. There would be new traumas to work through, new rules to the relationship to iron out, new secrets that could never be discussed. The previously established relationship was dead, even if the person was now alive.

Sam was sort of happy that his old relationship with Eileen was over. It had been good, but stunted due to his reluctance. He'd held himself back before, but now that he had the opportunity to try for something more… it scared him. When she had died, he had his regrets, but ultimately it wasn't his fault that the relationship had ended. If he messed things up now, he only had himself to blame. That was the catch with second chances. Sam had been down this road way too many times with his brother, but they were still together only because Dean was apparently physically incapable of giving up on Sam. Eileen had no such restrictions.

Dead people sometimes could be revived; dead relationships stayed dead.

Sam wasn't sure he was ready to risk losing Eileen again.


	10. Family

_Dean opened the door to Eileen's room slowly. The hinges were silent: he'd oiled all of the Bunker doors not long after they'd moved in because the all the screeching caused by Sammy's explorations gave him a headache. Sam was currently passed out on the table over a pile of research. Dean had thrown a blanket over him and let him sleep. He'd not had nearly enough rest recently. Neither had Dean, but that was the gig._

 _A quick flip of the switch illuminated the small room. The furnishings were the same as every other bedroom in the Bunker, of course. Eileen hadn't really had the opportunity to add many personal touches, but it was somehow still_ her _room. Dean had been meaning to clean it out for a while now: they had many rooms in the Bunker, but not enough to leave this one perpetually in memoriam._

 _A small shower caddy lay under the sink, full of surprisingly-not-girly-smelling soaps. Dean had caught her and Sam talking about it once: apparently she found strong perfumes distracting. Never mind the liability of an easily-detected scent during a monster hunt. Most of the bottles were almost empty, so Dean washed what remained down the drain and put the empty containers in the recycling bin. She'd_ _made the bed before she'd left, but the sheets still faintly smelled of essence-of-Eileen. Those were bundled into a basket and placed in the wash. He'd given Sam the warning that he was cleaning out her room yesterday: if he wanted to save them, he would have taken them away himself. The closet held a single change of basic hunter's clothing. Those went into a bag in Baby's trunk, to be donated the next time Dean went to town._

 _There weren't any keepsakes or knick knacks: Eileen had fully packed her things before she left for Ireland, and besides, she hadn't been with them long enough to accumulate much. Hunters really didn't keep many physical belongings besides weapons anyway: it didn't make sense to carry much when a monster was chasing you. The only real sign that this was room different than any other motel was the single picture frame on the desk. It had been turned face-down, presumably by his brother._ _Dean discovered it was of Sam and Eileen. Their smiling faces were pressed close together, all but blocking the background. They could have been just any happy couple anywhere in the world taking a selfie together. Dean took the photograph and put it in their memorial room_ _between a picture of a triumphant Charlie after the Great Battle of Moondoor and Kevin sitting proudly behind an improbably large pile of rib bones in a smokey BBQ joint._

 _"Family don't end with blood," Dean used the edge of his shirt to dust off the glass covering a faded Polaroid of Bobby leaning against one of his many battered cars, "but why does ours always have to end bloody?"_

* * *

It wasn't until Eileen finished brushing her teeth that she realized she had forgotten to bring clean clothes with her into the bathroom. Worse yet, she really didn't have any clean clothes left in her bag; another unwanted souvenir from her homeless vacation. Well, she'd made do well enough until now. There had to be at least one shirt left that wasn't offensively smelly.

Sam was doing something on his computer when she emerged from the bathroom. The towel completely covered her, but he still averted his eyes in the most adorable way, muttering something she couldn't read because of the exaggerated angle of his upturned face.

"Look at me and say that again," Eileen said gently. "I can't read your lips if you talk to the ceiling." He swiftly met her eyes and smiled at the tease.

"Uhm, I didn't know if you needed some spare clothes, you didn't come with much so I thought that maybe… I mean they're way too big and sort of have ghoul stains on them but if you want I…" Eileen put a finger on his lips to shush his babbling.

"Anything clean sounds amazing," she said honestly. He awkwardly handed her a wad of fabric, and she went back to the bathroom to change. The t-shirt was tent-like on her, almost long enough to be a dress. The gym shorts were practically capris on her short legs. Thankfully they had a drawstring waistband, or they would have slipped right off. Just her luck to fall for a giant.

Sam flushed with embarrassment when she came back out.

"It's alright, really," she'd smiled. Yes, the clothes were ridiculous, but they were clean and it wasn't like she'd be going out in public anytime soon.

" _I'm sorry_ ," he kept signing until she rolled her eyes and tugged him down for another one of those passionately soft kisses. They ended up on the bed, but they were both too tired to do more than languidly cuddle. Sam carded his fingers through her still-unfamiliarly-short hair as it dried. It was a nice feeling. She would have purred like a cat if she had the right vocal chords for it. For the first time in a _long_ time, she wasn't alone. She was safe. She didn't need to be afraid.

It was indescribably wonderful. Was this what _home_ was supposed to feel like?

Eileen didn't know she had drifted off to sleep until she awoke. Typically, she came to hard and fast, lashing out at whatever had disturbed her rest. This time, she woke slowly, eased into consciousness by Sam's voice rumbling through his chest underneath her head. Eileen couldn't hear much of anything without her hearing aids (she'd taken them out for her shower) but the cadence of his vibrations spoke of comfort, not danger. She didn't often wish she could hear, but she regretted having to pull away from Sam's warm support to communicate with him.

"Dean's back," she read on his lips. Sam must have heard the car. She knew it must be loud, from the way the engine had felt like it was pushing against its hood like a wild animal in a cage. Eileen checked the clock, shocked at how much time had passed.

"Only he could get lost for two hours in a two-stoplight town," Eileen ducked back into the sanctuary that was Sam. It was childish, she knew, but she wasn't quite ready to face the world and the shitshow that was hunting quite yet.

Sam's laugh shook his ribcage, even as he fiddled with his phone with the hand that wasn't currently pinned by Eileen. After a moment, he set it down and gently nuzzled her forehead until she tipped it back enough to read his lips.

"Dean says he's giving us five minutes before he eats all the Chinese himself," Sam said.

Eileen was about to say that she wasn't all that hungry, just tired, when her traitorous stomach grumbled.

"When's the last time you ate?" Sam asked, worry creeping into his expression. Eileen looked away. She'd stretched the limited of supply of food in her bolt hole until she'd seen 'her' body carted away and the reports of her corpse had been widely reported online. Since then, she'd had to avoid all video cameras like the plague. The Brits were always watching, after all. That had limited her food supply to what she could hunt and gather herself, for the most part. Most restaurants and community centers had surveillance of some sort nowadays.

"...enough," she turned back in time to catch the last of Sam's sentence. He gingerly rolled out of bed. Now that she wasn't so distracted, Eileen noticed some bruising peeking out from under his collar and shirtsleeves. Typical hunting wounds, but they still created strange feelings of protectiveness and anger within her.

Dean opened the door without knocking. Perhaps he thought his text was warning enough. He took one long look between Eileen and Sam before almost dropping the food amid his gales of laughter. She joined in: Sam's mortification at Dean's initial leer was completely hilarious, as was Sam's disarrayed hair and his ridiculously large clothes on Eileen. After a beat, Sam's more reserved chuckles joined them. It was good to laugh, really laugh, even if the situation wasn't nearly as funny as they were making it out to be.

After they had recovered, Dean held out a box towards Eileen.

"I hope you like General Tso. Sammy's got sweet and sour if you want to trade. My cashew chicken is all mine." The last was said with a glare towards his brother. Eileen sensed some sort of brotherly history there. Dean waved some plastic-wrapped utensils to catch her attention. "Chopsticks or fork?"

"Chopsticks, thanks," she replied. "How was your drive?"

"Almost as good as your ride, I'm guessing," he said with a wink. Out of the corner of her eye, Eileen caught Sam shooting his brother a withering and completely ineffective glare. Eileen grinned. She liked Dean and his totally inappropriate humor. Even if she hadn't done anything with Sam yet, she knew what they looked like, and it was good that she had Dean's approval. She emphatically did _not_ want to get on his bad side, especially when it came to Sam.

Dean continued to tease his brother as they dug into the chicken. Sam teased right back, telling stories about some of their more light-hearted escapades. Eileen just stuffed her face and watched them bicker. Is this what _family_ felt like? Laughter and food and safety and warmth and care and so much love that it made it hard to swallow? Because after so much time alone, she wanted nothing more than to be a part of this one.

* * *

A/N: So... cannon Eileen wears hearing aids. Shoshannah also wears hearing aids, and has said that Eileen has better hearing than she does... but that doesn't help because I have no idea what she can hear in the first place. For now, I'm going with the theory that Eileen hears very little without her hearing aids. The ones she wears in my stories are primarily hunting aids (specialized EMF meters, basically), although she can pick up some loud noises through them as well. I've done research, but I'm sure mistakes were made. Please PM me with suggestions/tips: I'm still looking for someone to beta my Eileen fics. Reviews are love!


	11. Explanations

Eileen wasn't usually a huge fan of General Tso, but right now it didn't really matter. After the first bite, all her tongue tasted was _calories_ and she'd dug in with gusto. Dean raised an impressed eyebrow when she polished off her large carton in five minutes flat. Sam chuckled with a sad glint in his eye and nudged his spring rolls in her direction. That earned another impressed look from Dean. Sam didn't share food, and he didn't tolerate other people stealing bites either. Eileen suspected it was because he hadn't had quite enough of it growing up. Dean only shared with Sam, probably for the exact same reason.

She finished the rolls and leaned back, relishing the sensation of being warm, clean, safe, uninjured, semi-well-rested, and fed all at the same time. When was the last time all of those things had happened at once? Months ago, at least.

Dean startled her out of her reverie by stomping his foot. That technique didn't work very well in the well-constructed bunker, but the shoddy motel floor easily transferred the vibrations up the shaky chair she was sitting on.

"I'm curious," he said once he had her attention, "How did you clean sneak out of becoming puppy chow?" Eileen took a moment to mentally translate the 'deanspeak' before replying. His use of obscure references, inside jokes, slang, and sarcasm made it difficult to understand him sometimes. She was a fantastic lip-reader-she had to be-partially because she could usually predict what a person would say. None of the typical rules of conversation applied to Dean. Confounding things was the fact that he was in precise control of his body language most of the time, and it often said the exact opposite of what he actually felt. At least, according to Sam. Eileen had seen enough to know that she couldn't trust any of the more obvious signs and facial expressions at face value. His feet often spoke a clearer truth: for example, grounded stances, as if preparing for a fight, signaled unease, while shifted weight signaled impatience. Currently, Dean appeared to be curious, but slightly guarded.

"A shifter owed me a favor," Eileen opted for simplicity.

" _Hi Karen! How are things?"_

" _Fine. Why are you calling Eileen?" Karen's expression was annoyed. She didn't like Eileen's check-in calls in general. She'd like this one even less._

" _Well, it's been forever. I think we should get together and have coffee." Eileen was purposefully being mundane: she knew the line was tapped._

" _Why? You know I hate coffee." The shifter's eyebrows furrowed with confusion. Eileen prayed that Karen would understand without words. It was too dangerous to let the British know her real purpose._

" _This is a special occasion. Like when you hooked me up with Sergeant David." She referred to a previous close call._

" _You need help with a boy?" Ah, finally! She was catching on._

" _This one is a little more… difficult… than others."_

" _You have other friends to deal with problems like that." Nevermind, Karen had no concept of double-speak. She'd have to be more obvious and hope the Brits thought it was just girl-talk._

" _I need your special talents. You know I can't do my makeup correctly. It's important that I don't really look like me, you know?"_

" _Ah. I see. When and where?" Eileen tried to not let her relief show. That might give the game away._

" _Great! See you tomorrow at our usual!" Hopefully Karen still remembered when and where that was…_

Hunters rarely wanted lengthy explanations, so Eileen summarized what she'd done in a simple sentence. "I trapped her in my form and hid."

"Favor?" Dean narrowed his eyes.

"Trapped?" Sam leaned forward.

Of course they would jump on those parts. Dean, always on the lookout for any deal, and Sam, always looking for a new piece of lore.

Dean demanded an answer to his question first. "So how does a good girl like you end up having monster IOUs?" There was a threat somewhere behind that innocuous smile. From what Eileen had learned from the Carver Edlund books, Dean was not a huge fan of colluding with monsters (to put it mildly). Sam started to clean up the table, but his full attention was on her story.

"Lillian killed her parents years ago," Eileen didn't like thinking about that hunt. It had been one of her first, and she still had a nasty scar on her arm from where Karen's father had tried to take a bite out of her. "Karen was just twelve. She promised to behave and we let her live."

"That rarely ends well," Dean grumbled.

"I know, which is why I've kept tabs on her," Eileen shot back. She was many things, but a sloppy hunter was not one of them. "Until two months ago, Karen worked in a butcher shop in the middle of nowhere Ireland." Eileen paused to finish off her coke before Sam threw the can into the trash. Or, knowing him, into the shopping bag he reserved for recycling. Most motels didn't have recycling bins, but schools often did, and she'd seen Dean make a detour for such a dropoff before.

"The terms of Lillian's agreement stated that I could call Karen if I was in a pinch with the law. She would turn into me and get caught. It would be easy for her to fake death and escape."

"So you called in your chip," Dean nodded approvingly. "Smart."

"I guess we ruined her resurrection when we burned the body," Sam said with a wince.

" _I won't." Karen folded her arms._

" _Yes, you will." Eileen said firmly._

" _This wasn't the terms of our deal." They weren't, but at this point Eileen didn't really care. She was out of options._

" _You broke those terms," Eileen rationalized._

" _But this is suicide!" It would be murder, if Karen was a human, but she was a monster, and Eileen was a hunter. Hunters killed monsters by whatever means necessary._

 _Eileen pressed her silver dagger against the shifter's throat. The monster's skin sizzled and burned at the contact. "Do this, and you have a chance. Refuse, and I'll stab you right now for what you did."_

" _...I'll need five minutes," the shifter gasped._

" _Get on with it," Eileen huffed._

" _How do you know this will even work?" The shifter's skin began to slough off. It was sickening to watch, but Eileen's gaze did not waver._

" _You wouldn't be so scared if you thought it would fail."_

"I didn't intend for her to survive," Eileen said honestly. "I was going to have to kill her anyway: a body with missing hands was found in her town. That was her parent's M.O. First they only killed convicted criminals that had been released too soon, but then they moved on to suspected criminals. By the time Lillian had gotten involved it was civilians. I wasn't about to let things escalate that far."

"The victim?" Sam asked. There was no condemnation in his face, just understanding.

"Under investigation for drug trafficking," Eileen stated. "The cops were struggling to get enough evidence when he was alive, but once he was dead they could search his house. They found several kilograms of meth. I'll not lose any sleep over his death."

"That wrapped up all neat and tidy," Dean remarked.

Sam sat back down on the bed. He'd lost a rock-paper-scissors contest against Eileen for the chair. Dean's exuberant reaction indicated that Sam didn't often lose. "So how _did_ you manage to get the shifter to keep your form? I can't imagine she did it willingly."

"I adapted it from gypsy spell," she sketched out the proper runes on one of the clean napkins that had escaped Sam's cleanup. "The setup is similar to the one I trapped you in when we first met, but the magical mechanics are totally different. Basically, you get the shifter in the shape you want, then catch them between these three sigils and say a brief incantation to trigger the spell. The paint recipe is tricky, and the effects wear off after a month or so, but…"

"That's _brilliant_ ," Sam interjected. He waved his hand emphatically in front of his face to sign 'amazing' for emphasis. Eileen felt herself blush.

"Not really," she shrugged.

"Yes really," Sam pulled the napkin closer. "I've seen sigils like this in the Bunker library. This one is for briefly stopping time in a small area. A minute at most, not months. The next is a modified version of supernatural glue: a magical way to bind things together before epoxy was invented. The final one I don't recognize, which is unusual in and of itself. You didn't just bind a shifter to a specific form, you invented the spell to do so almost from scratch."

Eileen quirked an embarrassed smile. "Necessity is the mother of invention?"

Dean pinched his nose and muttered what looked suspiciously like an exasperated "I'm surrounded by nerds".

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the late posting: this chapter didn't want to be written...

A big thank you to everyone who reads, favorites, follows, and especially reviews my stories! You keep me writing.


	12. Reasons

Sam woke up with hair tickling his nose. That wasn't so unusual, but it wasn't _his_ hair, despite smelling vaguely of his shampoo. Something warm and soft shifted slightly underneath his arm. Eileen.

 _Eileen's alive_.

The thought took his breath away for just a moment. She was _alive_ , and _here_ , with _him_. He thought his heart might burst. Sam didn't know he was even capable of feeling that way about someone anymore.

 _If you truly loved her you would leave_.

The thought felt like a sucker punch. He didn't want to believe the intrusive idea, but it was right. He killed those he loved, directly or indirectly. Just ask Jess or Amy or Madison or Sarah, or even Ellen or Jo or Ash or Bobby or Charlie or Kevin or Cas or Dad or Mom or Dean for that matter. They had all been killed bloody because of him, some of them by his own hand, some of them more than once. Eileen didn't deserve that.

 _If you truly loved her you would_ make _her leave._

Sam wasn't sure he was capable of doing that. Not again. Eileen had made it clear last night that she wanted to stay, that she wanted to be _more_ than just hunting allies and facetime friends. Could he kill her hopes as well as his own? Did he have the right to deny her that choice?

 _Why do I always have to be the one sacrificing? Why can't I just have something_ good _for once and_ keep _it?_

Sam didn't often listen to that voice. It was bitter and selfish, and kept him from doing what needed done. Eileen shifted slightly, smiling in her sleep, the morning light catching her hair just so and making her look absolutely _stunning_.

Perhaps, just this once, he would be selfish.

* * *

Eileen didn't know what she was thinking. She didn't trust people, and with good reason. She didn't hunt with other hunters, for even better reasons. She hadn't slept with anyone for years, for the best reasons. They had been hard and painful lessons, but she'd learned them well. Following the rules she'd set for herself had allowed her to survive in a world that saw her sex and her disability as weaknesses to be ruthlessly exploited.

 _Don't trust people. They will always betray you for their own pleasure or gain._

 _Don't hunt with other hunters. They value your life less than the monsters they kill._

 _Don't become romantically involved with anyone. They will leave you with nothing but problems and pain._

So here she was, in bed with a hunter.

Paradoxically, Eileen had never been happier, or felt safer, in her entire life than when she was snuggled within the nest of Sam's long limbs. They had talked until Dean noticed she was sagging with exhaustion and had ordered them all to bed. She had tried to take the floor, but neither of the Winchesters was having any of that and she was too tired to put up more than a perfunctory argument. Dean had ended up on the bed by the door watching the custom internet scanner on Sam's laptop, while she had ended up in the other bed snuggled up against Sam's chest. Eileen had fallen asleep almost immediately.

She'd woken up slowly to the feeling of Sam's voice vibrating against her back and through her chest. Eileen thought she could get used to that. It was a much better way to start the day than jackknifing upright with a knife in her hand, convinced that she was about to fight for her life. Sam's ridiculously long body wrapped around her like a cloak. Eileen didn't feel like breaking the peaceful spell, but she wanted to know what was going on, so she slowly opened her eyes a slit. It was just enough to be able to read Dean's lips. No one noticed she was awake.

"...see anything on the scanner last night…" Dean turned to put something in his bag, obscuring her view for a few seconds. "...go home. Eileen will be safe…" He spun, looking for something. "...help look for Jack."

Sam rumbled something softly in reply. Dean's expression grew soft, his posture easing off somewhat from his threatening default.

"Yeah, I'll get the coffee, loverboy."

A short huff of air by her ear indicated that Sam had responded. Dean narrowed his eyes, the corners of his lips tightening. Assessing.

"Sam, are you sure about this?" his eyes darted to Eileen's face, and she had to force herself not to close her eyes tightly and consequently give herself away.

Sam shook his head, his chin rubbing slightly against her short hair. When he spoke, it was in short uncertain bursts. Eileen wished, fervently, that she could hear what he was saying. She didn't wish that often, but every now and again the ability would be useful.

Dean nodded and tilted his head, considering.

"I hear you, Sammy." Dean jerked his chin decisively. "Now, she likes cream, no sugar, right?"

Sam nodded the affirmative. Dean grabbed his keys from the side table.

"...back in 15, so if you want to get _busy_ ," he raised his eyebrows suggestively, "you better get busy."

Eileen couldn't see it, but she could _feel_ Sam's exasperated eye roll. Dean laughed as he went to the door. As he turned the knob, he looked over his shoulder. Eileen could barely read his lips from this angle, but she could see enough.

"I just want you to be happy, Sammy. That's all I've ever wanted. If she makes you happy," he nodded towards Eileen, "then I'll make it work. Ok?"

Sam's arms tightened posessively around Eileen. Sam whispered something in return and moments later, she felt the slam of the motel door. His arms around her did not slacken. If anything, they grew even tighter. Lips pressed against the top of her head with tender fierceness. Eileen finally opened her eyes and shifted so Sam would know she was awake. He said something, but since his face was still somewhere above her head she had no idea what it was. Eileen languidly rolled over so they were face-to-face.

"Again for the deaf girl in the crowd," she teased slightly. Sam colored in the most adorable way.

"Did you sleep well?" he said again. Eileen couldn't help but smile.

"Terribly. I missed all the rocks in my back and the bugs crawling over my face and waking up with wet socks."

Sam laughed and quickly pecked her lips. That impulsive kiss quickly became a longer, more intentional one. The voice in her head screamed that she was making a mistake, that she was breaking every rule in the rulebook, that this would end horribly and she would regret it. Eileen viciously silenced that voice by twining her fingers into Sam's long soft hair and forcing herself to just _be_ in the moment. Even if things went sideways later, she would at least have this good memory to hold on to.

Eileen had thought for the longest time that Sam wasn't interested. They had formed a strong working relationship, but there was always something a little off about his body language. It was like he was holding himself on a leash. Having found and read Carver Edlund's books while in hiding, Eileen felt she understood a little bit why. Sam was afraid. Of himself, and of her, but mostly what might happen to her because of him. That was understandable. He had Reasons to think that way. She had her Reasons too, but Sam had proven himself to be an exception so far. She'd just have to prove the same to him as well.


	13. Understanding

The drive to the bunker was uneventful, but in a good way. They briefly stopped at a drive-thru to get some breakfast and coffee before hitting the highway. The Impala's engine rumbled contentedly as her wheels ate up mile after mile. Eileen remained quiet in the back seat, alternating between watching the scenery and surfing the web on her phone. Dean put in his favorite Led Zeppelin tape and sang along to it out of key under his breath. And Sam… he just enjoyed the moment. Dean was alive, and well, and their relationship was as solid as it had been in years. Eileen was alive, and well, and their relationship… might be on its way to something more. Sam sent a prayer of thanks to Chuck. The Man Upstairs probably wasn't listening and almost certainly didn't care, but Sam was happy, and he wanted to say so. Besides, Sam _was_ grateful. Incredibly grateful. Good times like this didn't happen very often, and he'd learned to appreciate them when they arrived.

Sam smiled as the Bunker garage door opened. They were _home_. The world might still be screwed, but for now, they were safe and together and that was enough. After they unpacked, Dean quickly vanished into the kitchen with warnings not to disturb him under pain of starvation. Eileen laughed and pulled Sam to the lounge and shut the door. They settled onto the same couch they'd shared all those many months ago and just let themselves relax into each other's touch. No sex, not yet, but they were getting there. Sam found he was looking forward to it. Not because he'd not had a good lay in a long while (he hadn't) but because sex was always so much better when there was an emotional relationship backing it up.

After the kisses and caresses slowed, they'd started to talk. First it was shop talk, like the finer points of vampire beheading technique or how to properly dig a grave so that a spirit couldn't easily collapse it on you. Then it turned competitive: how many graves _had_ they dug over the years? As lifelong hunters, it was certainly more than most. They compared their childhoods on the road: Eileen had been born in Ireland, but had traveled most of Europe with her adopted mother. The conversation was nostalgic, but cleansing. Sam had never been able to talk about how difficult it was to constantly switch schools and make new friends, all the while knowing that they were probably in danger from whatever supernatural thing had brought him there in the first place. Dean had always changed the topic or brushed it off when he'd tried, and it wasn't like Sam could discuss the family business with anyone else.

Eileen understood. She understood the fear, and the loneliness, and the desperate feeling of wanting to be normal despite knowing that she would always be _different_ because she knew about the evil things lurking in the dark. She knew what it was like to be labeled the 'freak' and how heavy other people's stares and condemnation could be. She knew how difficult it was to have a parent that was also a drill sergeant, and to have never known her real mother. She understood what it was like to sacrifice your whole life to fight for an ideal: a memory of a person you'd never met. It was so good to just _talk_ without having to worry about censoring out the monsters or the emotions. The conversation turned to more personal things as the minutes became hours unnoticed. Mistakes made and dreams unrealized. Dead friends. Abandoned dreams of a law degree. Past lovers.

"Everyone I've ever trusted has betrayed me," Eileen's hands formed the words reluctantly as emotions darted across her face. Resignation to a reality that could not be changed. Grief that what they had now would eventually end. Hope that it might last a little longer than usual before everything went wrong.

"Everyone I've ever loved has died," Sam met honesty with honesty. He knew that his face showed the same resignation, the same grief, the same hopes. "I'm not just talking about my family, Eileen. Half of my lovers have been monsters that we had to put down, and the other half were killed by monsters to manipulate me."

"I'm not a monster," Eileen smiled softly. "But monsters should be afraid of me." Her smile turned hard. Sam opened his mouth to respond, but she stopped him with a finger on his lips. "I'm a hunter, Sam. I know how hunters end, and it isn't in a nursing home. Honestly, I don't want to die 'normal'. After Lilian…" she looked away. Sam remembered that her adoptive mother had died after a short but brutal battle with cancer. She let him press a comforting kiss against her forehead. "I know what the cost is, Sam. I'd rather have fuller years than longer ones. Besides," she tenderly tucked a stray hair behind his ear, "I have excellent motivation to stay alive."

"But what about me?" the words slipped out before Sam could really consider them. "What happens to me after I lose you again?" It was a testament to his history that he _knew_ that she would die first. Winchesters had a history of reversing death, but the same couldn't be said for Eileen. Sam personally knew the cost of resurrection, and emphatically did not want to force her to pay it, even if it meant living the rest of his life without her.

Eileen pulled a little bit away, her shoulders sagging and her smile sad. "The same thing that happens after every other lover you've lost: Dean picks up the pieces and you move on. You revenge the dead and you keep fighting."

"But…" Sam started.

"Enough," Eileen metaphorically and physically put her foot down with a sharp thump. "I'm willing to trust you and your brother despite my history with other hunters. I'm willing to live with a target on my back because you've managed to piss off every monster on earth and every demon in Hell and every angel in Heaven," her fingers flew through the signs as she spoke to add snappy emphasis. "I'm willing to help with the cosmic craziness that the Winchesters seem to attract like magnets. I'm even willing to deal with all of the emotional baggage you and Dean insist on lugging around and throwing at each other on occasion. But," she stared Sam dead in the eye. "I need to know two things before we go any further with our relationship. One: are you willing to put aside your fears of what _might_ happen and enjoy what we could have _right now_? Two: can you promise to hunt _with_ me, not _despite_ me? I'm not a disability, even though I have one. Can you do that, Sam Winchester?"

* * *

A/N: Eileen briefly considered going to law school (following in her biological mother's footsteps) after killing the banshee.

We joke about the boys coming back from the dead with comic regularity, but I think the show does a good job of showing that resurrection comes at a high and painful cost, and leaves lasting scars.

Thanks to everyone who reads/follows/favorites and especially reviews! One more chapter to go...


	14. Vows

Most people, Sam reflected, had vows like 'for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part'. Eileen and Sam were hunters, however. They knew that things would be worse far more often than better, they were poor by default, the job meant that they were almost always injured or sick, and that death would come sooner rather than later (and bloody and painful more often than not) and even then it might not be the end. There would be no extravagant wedding and no relaxing honeymoon on the beach. There would be no white picket fence and no dog and no kids and no 9-to-5 job and no retirement in Florida.

It was way too early in the relationship to be thinking about things like wedding vows and a future, but Sam was smart enough to see where this was going and where this would end up. He knew Eileen was smart enough to know that too. Yet here they were, standing on the edge of a precipice, trying to decide to jump. Was it worth the joy of feeling like they were flying for a few brief euphoric moments before hitting the water, even if there were deadly rocks underneath? Clearly, Eileen had already made her choice.

Sam looked into her trusting brown eyes, and made his. He could not promise Eileen a happy ending or a happy middle or even a happy beginning. All he really had to offer was a past full of blood and pain and Apocalyptic mistakes and a future pyre covered with salt. But then again, Eileen hadn't asked for his past or his future. She wanted his present. His presence beside her and his support behind her, not mere gifts or material belongings. Could he do that?

"Yes," Sam swallowed thickly. He'd faced some momentous 'yes's in his life before, but he'd never felt so _right_ about saying it before. Saying 'yes' to Lucifer had been a last resort. Saying 'yes' to Ruby and Rowena had been acts of desperation. Every time he'd said 'yes' to Crowley he'd felt nauseous. Saying 'yes' to the British Men of Letters had gone against his instincts and more importantly, Dean's.

This 'yes' was different. _Good_. There were no hidden motives or agendas in that 'yes', no deals or pressure or innocent lives at stake. Eileen wanted it, and Dean supported it, and Sam longed for it. It was consent without coercion, and the distinction was profound.

"Yes, Eileen," he repeated, and kissed her soundly. It was important that oaths be sealed with a kiss, after all.

"And you?" Eileen signed as well as spoke. "What do you need me to promise?"

Sam bit his lip. That was a tricky question. What did _he_ need from Eileen? What expectations was he bringing to this relationship?

"I need you to listen," he said slowly, appreciating the irony as her gaze lingered on his lips so she could understand his words. "I need you to be strong when I need to be weak. I need you to share my tears, and I need you to share your laughter with me."

Eileen met his gaze, her eyes moist.

"Yes, Sam. I can do that."

This promise made her lips taste even sweeter than before. Sam kissed Eileen passionately, basking in the moment.

" _You don't ever think about something? Not marriage or whatever. But… Something? You know, with a hunter? Somebody who understands the life?"_

Sam had told that to his brother not long before he met Eileen. This wasn't a wedding, and their relationship wasn't a marriage, but it was… _something_. Something real. Something good. Something Sam was willing to fight for.

The reverent mood was shattered by a loud banging at the door.

"Put on your clothes; it's time to eat! We can fix the furniture later, ya animals," Dean shouted with all of the tact and subtlety of a bulldozer. Sam suspected his brother was so crude because he knew Eileen couldn't understand him through the door. Probably for the best.

"Perfect timing, Dean," Eileen shouted, drawing conclusions from Sam's reactions. She quickly signed to ask if his brother had said something relating to their assumed activity. After his nodded affirmative, she added, "I'm afraid the carpet's a total loss. Do you have spackle for the walls?"

"Tell Eileen I appreciate her concern for the decor," Dean replied with a chuckle. "Also, Sam, I need to talk to her for a moment, so give us some space on our way to the kitchen, ok?" Sam relayed the first half of the message, causing Eileen to grin.

"You can come in Dean," she offered.

The door opened hesitantly. Ever the hunter, Dean gave the whole room a quick overview before focusing on its occupants.

"Burgers are on the table; get them while they're hot."

Sam noted that Dean specifically angled to give Eileen the best view of his face. He even attempted to sign 'burgers'. It was heartwarming to see his brother making an effort to adopt to Eileen's needs. Sam savored the feeling, as well as the lingering taste of Eileen's promise on his lips, as he led the way to the kitchen.

* * *

Dean put a hand out in front of Eileen, forcing her to stop. Sam continued walking towards the smell of perfectly grilled hamburgers.

"Ground rules," Dean's face was relaxed, but his body was tense. Ready for a fight. Eileen nodded for him to begin. She was honestly surprised that it had taken him so long to give her this speech.

"You hurt Sammy, and I'll hurt you. You betray us, and I'll kill you," Dean said succinctly. Eileen knew he meant every word, and was completely capable of following through on the threat.

"I'll give you two the time and space you need, but in return, you'll give me and my brother the same." Eileen had known from the beginning that nothing could compare to Sam's relationship to Dean, and she had no desire to come between them. She nodded her understanding.

"When we hunt, you follow my orders." She wouldn't argue this point: she knew just how important a chain of command was in combat situations. She'd hunted with them a handful of times before and appreciated how Dean was willing to take suggestions and make changes to the established plan. That said, when Dean said 'duck', you better not waste time quibbling.

"I'll save Sam and Sam will save you. I can take care of myself. You worry about not dying." Eileen wasn't happy with that demand, but she could understand Dean's reasoning. Having a plan of what to do in a crisis could shave off precious milliseconds of decision-making when lives were on the line.

"If you get turned into a monster, I'll cure you. If there is no cure, I'll make it quick and painless. If you die human, I'll try and bring you back unless you say otherwise. If you can't be brought back, I'll make sure your soul gets to heaven." They were hunters: their living wills had far different stipulations than the normal 'do not resuscitate, donate organs to charity, the kids get the house'. Eileen confirmed her consent.

"No deals, especially stupid ones, without discussing them first." This rule really wasn't a surprise, considering their history. Eileen expected more stipulations and warnings, honestly.

"Saving people comes before hunting things. That should be self-explanatory." It was. She'd met hunters who had lost themselves in their revenge. They were hardly better than the things they killed.

"You damage my car, you'll pay for it before I _end_ you." Baby was sacred, as Eileen well knew. She felt the same about her own car Sweets, who was currently stashed in Maine. She'd brought her over from Ireland when she was hunting the Banshee who'd killed her parents and had left it in the States when fleeing the Men of Letters. Even then, she'd known she'd return.

"I'm sure there's more, but that's a good start," Dean nodded decisively and stuck out his hand.

"I can work with that," she made sure to meet his eyes as they firmly shook hands. He pulled her into a fierce hug.

"Welcome to the Winchesters, Eileen."

* * *

A/N: The end! This is the longest story I've ever posted, so THANK YOU for sticking with me till the conclusion. A special shout-out to Star-eye for beta'ing and bagelcat1, VegasGranny, and Sunset Whispers for all their reviews. I'm working on a sequel, so keep an eye out.

~ Always Keep Fighting ; You Are Not Alone ~


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